


Lady Stoneheart

by cortchuzska



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya and Jon in Winterfell crypts</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady Stoneheart

“Is it a girl?” Arya snorted. “Seven Hells, you are getting as stupid as Theon.”

“None of your business, my lady.”

“Don't call me that.” Arya protested. “It's only fair I know: Sansa will take it on me for filching the bouquet from her dresser.”

“You swore no one saw you! I don't want you to get into trouble with Lady Stark for me.”

“So what? Sansa would take it out on me anyway.” Arya gave a shrug. “Even if it were Old Nan who stole them.”

She still held the booty out of his reach and Jon was running out of patience. “Give it to me, now.”

Arya frisked off.

“Are you going to tell me, or... ”

“Or what?”

She strode over to a muddy pool with a wicked grin.

Jon acknowledged defeat. He could easily overcome her, but Arya would fight back, and she was too much of fierce fighter for roses to come out of the brawl unscathed. Their blue petals looked somehow already crumpled, as it was often the case with dainty items handled by his little sister.

“Swear the old gods you will not tell anyone. Not father, not Robb, not..”

“And, most of all, not Sansa.” Arya cut him off chuckling, then added in all her few years seriousness. “By the old gods, I swear.”

Jon grabbed the roses out of her tiny hand and seized her wrist.

“Are you bringing me back? You promised you would tell!”

“Be quiet and stealthy as I know you can be, and you may come with me.”

That seemed to appease her, if for a short while. Arya nodded with a conspiratorial countenance and skittered at his heels, making no further protest.

They walked past the kennels, silent and empty as the mews. The bailey looked desert as that of a long fallen stronghold. Most of Winterfell men had joined the hunt, along with the guests from King's Landing, and the few who had stayed were enjoying a moment of welcome respite after days of frantic buzz.

The forge steady pounding had slackened and then subsided. Mikken made to the doorstep, stretched his shiny shoulders, looked about and furrowed his sooty brow, squinting at the pale sun.

They crossed the lychiard by the First Keep and Arya scrunched up her nose.

“Are you meeting with a girl in the crypts?”

He poked her ribs and hustled her in. “Would you shut up, Arya Stark?”

He pulled two torches from their sconces, took one for himself and handed her the other. In silence, more companionable than out of awe, they spiralled down the stone steps, while the unsteady flames patterned the pitch-black vaults with dim shadows. It was not for a Stark of Winterfell to be scared of the place and Arya was unafraid; as to him, he had always found its musty darkness, warmer at every turn, oddly welcoming. _As if Winterfell roots were embracing you._ Master Luwin had explained it was because of the hot springs, and the deepest mines in the West were hotter than Mikken's forge, so that men laboured naked. Jon ha been shocked at the news; he liked best Old Nan's tale, of a coiled dragon peacefully slumbering under Winterfell itself.

As they reached the lower levels, he shoved his torch in a bronze ring on a pillar and stopped before a figure carved in granite. Jon set a bud in the statue hand, the other roses on her lap, and strewn some petals at her feet.

“Are the flowers for... Her?” asked Arya, puzzled.

“Blue roses were the ones she liked best.” He replied curtly.

“Father said as much.” She frowned. “It is him who brings here flowers, and he doesn't let anyone else arrange them.”

“Lord Stark is riding with the King now; keep it to yourself and no one is going to know.”

“Was all the secrecy about that?” Arya huffed. “Wish I were with them.”

“It's not my fault little girls and bastards are not welcomed in royal hunting parties.”

“Prince wormlips promised Sansa all of his kill pelts.” She pouted and mimicked Joffrey's scowl. “I bet he cannot do as much as to skin a rabbit. I don't care about a stupid hunt, but I could do without Septa Mordane fussing over Myrcella's needlework for a day. Her points are nearly crooked as mine.”

“Fear not. Septa Mordane will never find you here.”

Jon could hardly endure Aria's obdurate silence and offered at last. “I used to climb up to her lap as a child.”

“Why would you do that?”

From Sansa to the last skivvy, everyone in the household took their cue from Catelyn Tully. Hard to explain that the hug of a stone lady was all the womanly warmth he knew, and was likely to know.

“I am going to take the black, as uncle Benjen. When we'll met again, I will be a man of the Watch, and you wedded to some Southron Lord, or a member of the Small Council.” Jon mussed her hair. “Don't let King's Landing turn you in too much of a lady.”

 


End file.
